Everyone Deserves a Second Chance
by AGhostlyWriter
Summary: Following the fifth war, Shiro went back to the monotony of daily life; unaware that, though the Grail was destroyed, the Cosmos still owes him a lasting wish that has a shot at fixing this multiverse of a mess up. Without the Grail to fight over this time around, how will these freed Servants and fallen Masters fare?
1. Prologue

**Hi,**

 **So, my impromptu Sabbatical is over. Mostly because I figured I'd watch a series I knew nothing about, and was flooding with so many conflicting emotions that writing is my de facto method of therapy.**

 **Naturally, this really is just a rough draft to see if the idea gains any traction. I'm venturing out of my usual depth so, please, by all means, let me know if this piques your interest. This is merely the prologue, expect future chapters to be around the 4,000-6,000 count.**

 **So yes, I may have been a terrible author in the past, I'll try to establish a regular schedule soon-ish. When I do, I'll let all you fine people know right-quick.**

 **Anyways, I'm glad to be back. I'll mosey on back to my other stories I tossed on the back burner whenever I get the chance, and I think that pretty much covers it.  
**

 **I hope you enjoy:**

 **P.S. I beg you, give me feedback.**

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 **Everyone Deserves a Second Chance:**

It came to Shiro Emiya's mind around two years after the war. Speckled in animal oil and pocking at the spring roll he failed to cook, he glared at the mess his first attempt at Chinese food wrought, a mishmash of browning dough and splattered herbs sprinkled all over his stove. The boy sighed, unaccustomed to failure on the domestic front. With a swift flick of his fingers, the hiss of the burners muted and he began to scrape at the burn marks with moist sponge.

It was a strange thought, one he didn't usually have these days. Compounded with exhaustion from a long day that didn't out his way and a lingering sense of loneliness in this empty house he called a home. He murmured for his own benefit a cue that was years in the making.

"I wish things would've worked out differently."

Now, suppose that you were an entity that reigned over the cosmos. An intelligent being that quietly watched in mute despair as your favorite creations went about trying to go beyond what was intended for them and corrupting themselves in the process. Whose great joy savagely massacre itself with a weapon of its own design that, by some twisted turn, mirrored one of your own greatest accomplishment. An abomination they mistakenly called the Grail, when it was so far removed from the genuine article that the closest resemblance it bore was its link to a greater spiritual power meant to grant wishes. You cannot act, for you resolved yourself to leave them to their own devices; and so, you observe the repeated suffering, the malarkey nurtured by misguided wishes. Misguided wishes that turned into such a malevolent power that the mere contest to obtain it resulted in a sundering of Time so profound that the only thing keeping the continuum from imploding are your actions behind the scenes.

However, there is hope. Out of the multitudes that fought to gain the malevolent power, one contestant stubbornly refused to give in no matter the timeline. Even when confronted with the loss of his chivalrous lover; even when faced with the literal outcome of good deeds leading into Hell; even when those he called friends were corrupting into travesties of their former selves; he stood firm.

Truly, if ever there was a man who deserved a wish; it should be that valiant soul. Still, a glaring problem persisted: he wished for naught. He resolved himself to persevere without looking back, wishing only to make the world a better place for others and, on extremely rare occasions, himself. There was a way to fix it all, but there's a fundamental inability to communicate. Either he took the first tentative steps and asked for help or this would remain the status quo.

Then, on a very normal day, with no consideration beyond his newest culinary disaster, he says the magic words in three separate universes simultaneously…

And the rest is, as the colloquial saying goes, History.

The sound of thundering trumpets echoed. A choral of invisible instruments shock the ground and rattled the very air around him. The carpet turned to paste beneath Shiro's feet, bubbling up into a quagmire discolored matter. It went from light brown to grey, to purple and green, swirling around as the roof ripped away from a gust of wind. Above him, the skies lit up as the stars were torn and smashed together into chaotic shapes. The clouds took on a red tint, then burst into flames before coming together and crashing into the swampy matter flowed freely in no specific direction. The pillars of fire became aggressive, wrapping around his house and blocking out the sight of the world beyond a small ray of light that danced in the heavens. Shiro was awestruck, squinting to make sure that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, and that the soothing rays that floated above his head was actually growing, was forced to amend his assessment as a new dose of fresh fear washed over him. It wasn't growing larger, it was coming closer.

Shiro was about to turn tail and run when the orb finally made contact with the ground. The result was a flash of light that forced his eyes shut and a force that sent him flying into the air. He opened his eyes just in time to see the dune he was crashing into milliseconds before his head made contact.

By the time he regained his senses, he spotted a familiar figure sitting on a nearby rock with a content smile etched unto his usually expressionless face. The acquaintance in question had a fondness for form-fitting grey shirt, red coats, bows, and an endless sea of mortal instruments that was the envy of any half-decent weapon connoisseur.

"Archer…"

The Heroic Soul flashed a grin and folded his arms one over the other:

"Shiro Emiya, this just might be the first time I don't instinctively want to slice your throat when I see your face."


	2. Chapter 1

**Alright, truth be told, I'm cheating a little bit on the promised word count but hey, combine this with the prologue and we're within the range I promised to deliver on. We'll just count this and the last page as chapter one... so there...**

 **Enjoy:**

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 **Chapter 1: I Hate Myself**

Shiro did not respond right away. Instead, he glanced from side to side before setting his eyes on his future self who, for some odd reason, seemed jovial. Or at least, as jovial as possible for someone possessing Archer's predisposition for treating people coldly. The tanned faced barely cracked the faintest hint of an arrogant grin before the Heroic Spirit decided to chime in in lieu of his younger self.

He gestured upward at the sky with his arm outstretched, his gaze never letting the boy out of his sight: "Do you know why they stopped spinning?"

Shiro followed to where Archer's finger traced an imaginary line, straight up into the skies churning with angry clouds and metal clogs all connected to each other like some oversized machine lording over the landscape of the desolate wasteland. The whole scenery was only rendered more menacing by the intermittent breaks in the clouds that let in just enough sun to give this world an even more hellish aspect, as if hope itself were stifled in this dimension. The boy's first thoughts upon seeing this eerie scene aligned with what Archer wanted to show. Whenever he'd been sent here, he would see those gears moving of their own accord, screeching painfully as it worked; why had they stopped?

Then, it dawned on him. He stared back at the denizen whose abode he inadvertently entered with wide eyes: "I… You're free."

"Yes," Archer replied as he bent down and pulled a dagger out of the sands. With practiced ease, he took aim at one of the contraptions in the distance and threw the diminutive weapon towards it. The dagger made contact with a deafening clank and the steal grind fell into the dunes below with a final plaintiff crash; "The counter-force, the Grail; it's all gone, forever."

The audible sigh of relief was enough to make the boy smile despite his best efforts to keep a neutral expression. Even if it was himself, seeing another person so visibly happy forced a knee-jerk reaction out of him; joy was especially contagious for Shiro.

"That's all well and good," the boy retorted as he folded his arms the same way Archer greeted him, "but how did this happen?"

As much as Archer wanted to keep admiring his handiwork, he reluctantly tore himself from the spectacle of sticking-it to his former incorporeal masters and opted to elaborate. "You," he pointed at his younger self with a knowing smirk, "you wished for it."

"I what?"

"You wished for it," Archer repeated succinctly. In the distance, a few more steel gears followed suit and fell with only the faintest shake left behind when they plummeted to their end.

Shiro scratched his head and, after a short pause, exclaimed as inspiration hit him.

"What I said about the food?"

Archer shock his head yes and called the sword he'd sent forth back to his side. It made the air whistle as it zoomed past Shiro into the former Protector's waiting hands. It was a simple sword, made of iron and engraved with silver around the hilt and spread out to give the owner a smoother grip. Archer swung it a couple times and reprise as he slashed the empty space around him with a furrowed brow.

"Someone overheard you, figured it was good enough, and granted it; a wish you never even knew you had."

The youth was doubtful about that last part. A wish he never even knew he had? More akin to a wish he never had; but from the doomsday-like he was made an unwilling witness to, he figured, rightly so, that there was no going back.

"How do you know all this?"

The furrowed eyebrows deepened further as Archer coldly voiced his assessment with a mutter meant mostly for his own benefit;

"Damn, I have to reshape it all over again."

As obvious as it was that the comment was intended to be directed at the weapon, Shiro couldn't shake the awful feeling that he was being softly mocked by his own idealized self. It was not a comfortable feeling; hence Shiro's need to break the quiet that settled over them.

"That someone you mentioned contacted you."

"That's right," Archer responded tranquilly as he let the sword slip from his fingers and fall of its own accord, blade first, into the sands. "But not the same way the Grail did. It didn't say a word to me; I saw you falling into that dune over there and I instinctively knew what happened. It seems the rules are simple enough."

"The rules? What rules?"

Archer sat back down, the snarky sneer etched once more upon his ageless face. As he did so, a few of the sun's rays shun through the grim cover, bathing him in the golden light. Shiro sat down as well, subconsciously leaning in make sure he didn't miss a word.

"Before I get to that, like I already said, the Grail is gone, as is the magic that made me… _this_." He spat out the final word with such disdain, it momentarily replaced the eternally superior gleam in his eye with pure, unadulterated hatred. The mood swing passed by in a flash, though, and he continued where he unceremoniously left off. "Secondly, what you saw happen right before you were transported here were different worlds collapsing into each other, forming back into a single, coherent timeline."

"Coherent timeline?" The boy repeated back to him, unsure what his elder self was talking about.

Discerning some hesitation in the red-head's voice, the ex-Servant sighed a languid sigh and reprised with some accrued authority in his voice. "What do you remember of the Grail War?"

"I…" The boy racked his brain a moment before cautiously recounting what he remembered:

"Sakura turned into…"

He saw her; the monstrous her. Shining silvery strands of hair floating in the breeze. The diabolical look that sent shivers down his spine. Archer's arm grafter unto him. The memories, the snapshots of his past, they grew a little harder to discern in his mind's eye. The more he tried to hone on any one thing, the more it eluded him, pushed out of mind by a more vivid and unrelenting thought that burrowed into his skull like the parasitic… Were they worms? It was so hard to tell…

"No, that's not right: Rin and I went after Gilga-"

He froze again. He remember Rin there, fighting that giant creature formed out of Shinji's own flesh and sinew. Before that, he was tackled to the ground by the Tohsaka mage; forced to watch Heracles and his Master being ripped apart, unable to run and help them kill Archer…Wait, was Archer there, then?

Wait, I was with Saber and we fought at…"

Finally, the internal vortex overcame him and slumped his shoulders down in defeat. His expression a mix of fear and bewilderment as the images cycled around in his brain. Incapable of processing it, Shiro sought Archer's gaze for aid, scared that he was losing what semblance of sanity his mind clung to.

"You started to realize it, huh? Don't worry too much about it, the same thing is happening to me." Archer confessed in an attempt to quell his other self's growing anxiety. "If we're stuck with all these overlapping lives playing out in our heads, it just goes to show how much the Grail screwed up the world."

The boy took a deep breath in and exhaled. He titled his head back and breathed in a second time before opening his eyes, only to be met with a clear, blue sky. It seemed the gloom had retreated back into a more obscure part of Archer's psyche. Either that, or the dreadful cover was just another aspect of the counter-force's magic that began to dissipate one shred at a time. Now that he thought about it… His face was scouting the mountainous horizons and, just as his hunch suggested, the gears had completed vanished from both the sky and the landscape.

"Moving on," Shiro countered, eager to push the issue of the mental quagmire out of the discussion, "You said something about rules."

"More like facts: Since there won't be a Grail War, the Heroic Spirits will materialize without Servant Bonds. They themselves will effectively be brought back without restraints to live out the rest of their lives…"

"We need to help them." Shiro interjected without thinking.

"Which brings me to rule #1: Since there's no way you'll be passing up the opportunity to save a soul in distress, you've been charged with saving them… Like me."

"What?"

The mage-apprentice's sudden outpour of confusion was only natural, there wasn't a single moment either of them even remotely appreciated working with the other in all the time they'd spent across the timelines. And yet, there was his ideal, telling him that they would work together. No matter how you look at it, it felt downright bizarre to fathom that it was Archer's decision.

The bowman could guess the internal dialogue and promptly spoke out.

"Things have changed since we last met."

The frown coupled with the lack of specifics led the red-haired youth to surmise that Archer was not about to share his secretive reasons, and prodding any further would never work on someone that stubborn. Instead, the boy's mind drifting to other priorities, and Shiro's features darkened in a flash. "So this means this is a lifelong partnership."

"As much as I dislike the idea; yes, yes it is." Archer paused before hastily adding, "However, and this leads me to my second point: there are no more Command Seals. Ergo, I have free will, so don't think you'll be forcing me to do anything."

Unfortunately, the boy had stopped paying attention a while ago. He was off in a corner, midway between murmuring to himself and sulking as he kicked around the dust with his snickers. "Why did I have to get stuck with this guy? Of all the people… Where's Saber when I need her…" He lamented.

"Hey!" The veteran Spirit snapped at his former self. "This is important! Are you even listening to me?!"

"Yeah, yeah…" Shiro replied dismissively. "The Servants are coming and I'm stuck with you, anything else?"

"Yeah, Matou, Gilgamesh and Kotomine will be out there."

There was a pause in the conversation, as both Emiyas played over the events that rendered each of these despicable characters a sworn enemy of theirs.

"You're right," Shiro conceded with a frown. "How do we deal with them? Thoughts?"

"Well…" The ex-Protector contemplated the situation for a moment. "If the Grail is out of play, the issue with Kotomine takes care of itself, what with the Mage's Association keeping a careful eye on their own. That might also be true for Zouken, but I can't be sure. That leaves Gilgamesh as our biggest problem."

"Right. I suppose we'll cross that bridge when we get there."

Suddenly, a gust of wind flew by. The Emiyas turned their heads to the source of the abrupt force and marveled as a solid wall of dust rolled up, bit by bit, until its uppermost reaches rose out of view. The surprise gusts came in rapid succession, continuing until they meshed into a constant squall. It egged on the imposing sandstorm that now barreled down on the mismatched pair.

"Looks like our time is up." Archer continued as he turned his head to meet his new partner's gaze. "I'll see you back at home."

Before Shiro could reply the storm had caught up to them. With both arms braced to fight the incoming calamity of nature, he drudged forward and did his best to withstand the elements. A polite cough rung in his ears and the battle with Nature ended as quickly as it commenced. Daring to peak over his own sleeves, he saw his living room exactly as it was during the prelude to that catastrophe mages called the Holy Grail War.

XXXXXXX

The pain was excruciating; a small rash that suddenly flared up until the white-haired girl lost her composure and grasped her hand as her breath turned rasped. Ilya sobbed in agony, unable to scream out for help. It felt like her hand was strapped to a grill and left to cook. Her Command Seals were fading in color, bit by bit, and at last the pain subsided when they disappeared entirely. She felt the foundations shake beneath her and immediately jumped to her feet and sprinted through the endless hallways and stairs of the Einzbern estate. The vibrations were a telltale sign that another creature was suffering tremendously, a creature near and dear to her heart.

"Berserker!" Ilya cried as her Servant's noisy distress rendered her deaf to another monster's whining.

However, the monster she ignored, or rather had no knowledge even existed, was not an entity of flesh and bone.

It was a spirit. A spirit filled with malice. A mind breaming with hate for all. An awful abomination created in a moment of magical folly only to be struck down by the unconscious wish of a kind-hearted boy. And thus, the plaintiff screams bounced off into nothingness as one of its vessels, the few beings slightly in tune with it, albeit unknowingly, never acknowledged it. It was then and there that the heretical monster died, an affront to all that took Command Seals, Servant Bonds and the like with it to the grave.

XXXXXXX

The sheds walls bounced the agonizing sounds that Shiro made with surprising clarity for a space this small. Every little whimper came out and repeated itself as it traveled from wall to wall. The searing pain of dozens of inert circuits powering up was not a particularly fond memory of his; alas, Archer was quite adamant about treating that problem as quickly as possible. A shirtless Shiro was leaning over his crossed legs and pushing against the floor with his bare hands, a half-hearted attempt to keep steady while the vertigo and feeling of charbroiled nerves spreading throughout his body dissipated in a remarkably slow fashion. Peculiar, as much as liked to reminisce about the Grail War days, he didn't recall the pain being this… concentrated.

"Feels weird," he muttered under his breath.

His older self was tracing his fingers along his comrades back as he checked to make sure everything was working properly before he let the red-haired out of his sight. In the short time he'd spent back in his childhood house, Archer made sure to rummage through Kiritsugu's old things until he found a series of black and grey suits that fit him. If nothing else, the wide array of clothing size was a final parting gift that the father left to a grieving son who never had the heart to throw away. The gift was late, but still very much appreciated by the ex-Guardian who now faced the daunting prospect of fitting back into regular society.

"Being around Rin forced you to come into contact with potent magic more frequently. As it stands, your present-day body hasn't seen power that even remotely compares to those levels. Of course it was going to be more painful." The stoic Servant mused as the last part of his explanation earned him an over-the-shoulder glare; he made sure to smile back.

"That should about do it." Shiro declared as the tingling went away entirely.

"Yeah."

Having done his job, Archer stood up and headed back into the main complex. By the time Shiro put his shirt back on and caught up with him, the ex-Servant was in the hallway, breaking in the new pair of shoes he'd appropriated for himself.

"Oi," Shiro call out to him his arms crossed, "where are you going?"

Archer slide open the front door and briefly replied on his way out: "To settle things." To anyone else, this would've been a perfect time to crack a joke along the lines of: "Don't wait up" or some such similar retort; but to his old self, he just couldn't work up the energy to be witty. He didn't need to either. The boy was already well aware of the freed man's purposed destination. It was a small church in an adjoining city.

The sun began to set, signaling an end to a beautiful Sunday afternoon. The boy trudged through the living room and into the kitchen. He started rummaging through the pantry until he found the can he'd been looking for and tossed the contents into a pan. All the while, his thoughts wandered to tonight's guests…

What was he going to do about Sakura?

And how would he explain Archer's arrival?

XXXXXXX

It was fairly late when Archer came up to the front of the unassuming church. Behind its white walls and polished status laid an evil presence that unsettled him. Regardless of the number of centuries spent trying to act like a different person, some of Shiro Emiya's most basic instincts bubbled up to the surface time and time again. It didn't matter how long it had been since he last laid eyes on the religious edifice, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. He didn't like meeting Kotomine; not now and not ever.

But he pushed on nonetheless. Predictably, the false priest was nowhere in sight. The pews were empty, a deathly silence reigned, but the Spirit was undeterred. The lights were on and he knew the man was within earshot, so he took a seat and declared in a loud and audible tone: "I'm here to see the observer to the Fifth War."

He had no doubt Kotomine would come out to greet his nighttime visitor whether he made a point to emphasize his business or not; however, he wanted to get the formalities out of the way as quickly as possible.

And apparently, it worked…

"Oh, I see," came a voice from beyond the altar. The familiar shadow slide into view and the unnerving smile that accompanied the evil man was as wide as ever. "Then what is your name, young Master?"

It was Archer's turn to smile. Knowing more than that vile snake that slithered in his direction was always a bright spot on his otherwise bleak days. "Who says I'm a Master."

The imposing figure paused, comprehending the nuance he was presented with: "Then what is your class, Servant?"

"Archer."

"Well then, would you care to tell me why you sought me out, Archer?"

There was a tension in the room that wasn't there when Archer first called out to the priest. It was a dark aura, the sense of a dangerous predator, who, on the verge of being cornered, finally brought its claws out. The usually tame observer was on edge, and if Archer's assumption was correct, he was right to be.

Without missing a beat, Archer answered promptly: "The one I'm bound to won."

The oppressive air grew heavier with each new word that was uttered. It was pointless for the white-haired man to hesitate now, his gut move was the right one. The corners of the priest's mouth curled up into a cruel, mocking grin and an involuntary bout of laughter burst through the usually composed mage.

"That's quite a bold statement, Heroic Spirit. Unfortunately for you and your Master, I cannot declare a victor until all the Servants have been defeated."

The warrior sat still, only bothering to point at his arm before giving his retort: "We already did. The disappearance of the Command Seals should be all the proof you need."

"What?" Kotomine feigned ignorance, but the uncanny vision of an Archer could pick out the tensed muscles in the jaw tightening considerably.

"We made the wish, and this is a byproduct of said wish," he continued, "I can't tell you the particulars, naturally, but we've been sent back to right before the War. The Grail won't appear and the Servants will be coming into this world without the Command Seals to bind to a mage. They will be wholly brought back as they were in life."

The ex-Guardian had a hunch the priest wasn't buying his story completely. Whether that was true or not, Kotomine played along with the wild the story he was being told: "Then you came here for what reason?"

"Two things: For the winner of the War to be recognized. And for you to tell the Mage Association and the Church that nothing is out of the ordinary. From my experience, you're on good terms with them."

"You speak as though we've met," was the bemused reply.

"We did, or rather we should be, in several days."

"I understand." The reply was deliberately slow, as though the speaker mulled over every word before letting them pass his lips. "In that case, would you care to tell me your Master's name?"

It was at that moment that Archer opted to stand up and make his way of the cathedral. As he passed the priest by, he dismissed the request with a wave of his hand: "You don't need to know that just yet. I realize this things take time, so I'll be back in a few days once you've confirmed my story."

And with that, Archer was gone, leaving a bewildered priest alone in his humble abode, weighing the information as the quiet stillness of Japanese evenings turned nearly deafening.


	3. Chapter 2

**Hi all,**

 **It's me again.**

 **So, I've been documenting myself extensively on the subject and, as far as I can tell, I just need to catch up on Carnival Phantasm and Prisma Illya before I'll be up to date. I wonder if they'll match the atmosphere from Zero.**

 **Enjoy:**

* * *

 **Chapter 2: In Front of Me and I Never Noticed**

Once safely home, Archer was greeted by three pairs of eyes: one brown, another golden-brown, and purple. The golden pair didn't do much outside of stare him down with a furrowed brow. Brown was halfway torn between inspecting the newcomer and turning back to its appetizing dish: gluttony won out in the end. As for purple, she just sat there and politely greeted the white-haired Servant as a proper guest would. And peering at the clock, Archer came to appreciate the amount of time his little visit to Kotomine had wasted and, incidentally, why golden brown looked none too happy. Spotting an open seat next to his younger self and a pork dish that went cold a good hour ago, he took his place at the table and greeted both the habitual helper and the freeloader with a slight bow and a serious expression that did little to lighten the mood already soured by his late entry.

"Good evening."

Archer spoke plainly, earning him a suspicious glare from a freshly satiated tiger.

"So, this is the guy?" Fujimura asked her young ward who then nodded in turn.

"Yeah. Sakura, big sis Fuji, this is Yoshiro Emiya."

"A pleasure to meet you," was Archer's simple response.

The table went silent. A quick glance around was all the Servant needed to know why that were the case: both Fujimura and Sakura were eyeing him as though he were an intruder; rightfully so in his own opinion. It was easy to tell they desperately wanted to bombard him with questions. As for Shiro, he quietly went through the motions of chewing some cooked shrimp when he peered towards his older self and gave the silent go ahead. The pair were quite aware of how the other thought, no other exchange was needed. And so, as the boy ate without an apparent care in the world, it was time for Archer to act.

"Kiritsugu Emiya is –was- my father. When I heard he passed away and that he adopted, I felt compelled to get in contact with Shiro. That was about six months ago, right?"

The redhead acquiesced nonchalantly: "Just about."

The Spirit reprised, "I'll be in your care from today onward. I hope we get along."

Sakura was delighted to see a sibling of Shiro's at long last, albeit an unknown one until recently. Still, that fact did nothing to dampen her enthusiasm. No sooner had he finished speaking did the purple-haired Matou girl assail him with questions now that the chance was presented without coming off as forceful. He was simultaneously a stranger in Shiro's home and the closest thing the boy had to surviving family; it was her duty to find out every last scrap of detail there was to find.

"Um…" She hesitated briefly, the first question that popped into her head was impolite enough to make her wriggle around in her seat with a nervous face the pair had seen several times in the past.

"You want to ask why I look nothing like Kiritsugu."

Archer noted. It wasn't a question, because he knew that would be the very first roadblock. Sadly, there was a distinct lack of options available, anything other than familial relations and he was bound to be kicked out the door. As for sneaking around, that presented a whole new set of complications if caught.

Sakura's face went beat red: "Yes," she said meekly.

"You'd be surprised how often I get asked that," Archer's smile dispelled the awkwardness the girl had wrought upon herself as she returned the gesture timidly. "I guess you could say I take after my mother more so than my father," he replied pensively before pointing towards his head, "especially my hair."

"Nah," Taiga interjected with all the grace and charisma a woman with a mouthful of food can project, "you may not look it but you definitely act like him…"

The teacher was looking him over, evaluating this long lost relative of Shiro's with a little more curiosity than the magi pair were willing to put up with. The thought of her barring Archer access on the grounds of being a practical stranger would cause no end of trouble, not to mention that, legally speaking, she was the closest thing Shiro had to a parent in this room. Not to be undone by Fujimura's potential meddling, Archer had already planned for the contingency.

His face went sour as he engaged in some discomforting staring of his own. Slightly taken aback, the usually aggressive instructor pulled back with an embarrassed smile. "What? Is there something caught in my teeth?"

Archer didn't answer, his countenance turned cold enough to force a chill down the assembly's collective spine, including his younger self who marveled at the acting chops he somehow developed as this future iteration of himself; admittedly, if you were stuck in a celestial prison for a sentence akin to an eternity, you were bound to find time to rehearse. Fujimura looked to Sakura and Shiro for support, finding no sympathy from either, she resolved to face the silent accuser for whatever perceived slight earned her his death glare.

"So, you're the one watching over my brother…" He finally uttered with contempt.

Taiga's throat went dry; her face, pale. That was the one thing she couldn't shrug off, an indelible scar left by endless parent-teacher meetings: a relative's disapproval of how she handled their kin's education. She could feel her legs going weak, if she weren't sitting down, she was sure she would have difficulty steadying herself.

Nevertheless, in an extraordinary resurgence of willpower, she answered with a voice that barely quivered: "That's right. Kiritsugu left me as his guardian."

Having made her point, she beamed proudly now that her authority, and her competence, were vindicated by a superior father figure. Alas, it was for naught, Archer had predicted what her answer would be and was ready to nip this resurgence in the bud. "You specifically?" He questioned bluntly, outwardly undeterred by Taiga's sudden confidence boost.

The verbal joust shook her to her core. Timidly, and with a few beads of cold sweat dripping down the nip of her neck, she confessed: "I… Not me specifically, I…"

"I see." Archer noted coldly, calmly, just as his evil glare grew more threatening. "And if you are supposed to take care of him, can you explain why he is cooking _your_ meal instead of it being the other way around?"

There it was! She nearly gasped. She still had a chance; if she could prove Shiro's good nature, she could absolve herself by countering that he'd grown into a fine young man under her tutelage and that he insisted on doing the menial tasks around his own abode. Triumphantly, she turned to her own ward and deflected with a large smile, unable to hide her relief: "How about we ask him."

Poor Fuji, Shiro pitied her; she was trying so hard to clear her name and she was absolutely certain that he would come to her aid. Under normal circumstances, he might consider it, but that errant glint of authority in her eyes had to be squashed pronto, or else they ran the risk of running into this very same problem down the road. Her sacrifice was to serve a greater cause, may she find solace in that fact.

"I don't know," the boy shrugged, "it kind of happened that way."

Noncommittal Shiro drove the final nail into her readymade coffin. She went a little limp, her eyes glazing over with a sad smile crossing her lips as she contemplated the bowl of soup in front of her. For the first time in recent history, she lost her appetite. "I guess you're right," she conceded, her mind half gone, "I'm not that good of a role model."

Sakura could tell this was a group effort, and so, as she slid over to her teacher's side and patted her on the back, she quietly pleaded with the accuser to cut her some slack. Archer, displaying a twinge of mercy, shock his head yes. "I guess it can't be helped. Shiro's been saying some good things about you so I'll just have to trust him on it."

Having life breathed back into her, her head jerked up at lightning speed, ecstatic at the newfound vote of confidence her prosecutor gave her. In her easily malleable state of gratitude, he added, in an off-the-cuff manner, the finishing touches: "But I'd like to stay here and observe nonetheless. I'm sure you understand where I'm coming from."

"Of course." Fujimura nearly shouted in joy. "Stay here as long as you'd like, Mr. Emiya. I'll prove that your brother is in good hands."

She clenched her fist in front of her as she issued her great proclamation, accepting the imaginary challenge with zeal; and without another word, the small group went back to their communal meal. An important lesson was learned that day; when it came down to it, it was remarkably easy to win over teachers and influence reticent tigers, case in point.

XXXXXXX

The clock tolled midnight as the man kneeled before the symbol of his faith. Joining his hands together, he began his nightly ritual and prayed. Sometimes mumbling and sometimes silent, the figure clad in priestly garments never interrupted a prayer he was in the mist of conducting. No matter who came knocking, whether or not they be in need and how badly they wanted to speak with him, he always finished the custom he made for himself and tugged at the golden cross dangling around his neck before he deigned acknowledge a visitor.

A figure warped in out of the cold, dreary night. The door to the holy place burst open as if blown open by violent winds and so thereafter, closed of their own accord. A familiar man with golden hair and an unblemished face sat in the pews, waiting for his old friend to wrap up his strange habit. He would watch solemnly, a small smirk, an elitist smirk, permanently etched upon his ageless face.

The reason for which he smiled was the same reason he regarded this nocturnal ceremony as strange. In truth, he was one of the few who understood the man that presently kneeled. If not for his heritage, he would never have wound up a priest. Had he any earthly desire, he would have gone another way. If he'd been able to ascertain what it was that made him happy, Kirei Kotomine, would not be the empty shell that he was. A hollowed out man who followed the dream of being happy through being entertained. And entertainment, in the warped mind of a man who adhered to the Church and the Association only by virtue of his heritage, passed through the exquisite suffering of others.

How did he reconcile this with his faith? Gilgamesh couldn't answer that. In fact, he wasn't sure the man was truly religious, regardless of how one might try to stretch the meaning to make it apply. Did he merely hang on to those rosary beads he flicked through his fingers due to decorum? Was there a deeper meaning to his purpose that regular mortal men were unable to relate to? Was Kotomine even aware of his own beliefs for that matter? It was these innate contradictions that made him such a fascinating character. A king that reveled in watching his favorite jester playing a trick he was quite fond of: pretending to be a person with wants and needs. It was a pleasant diversion that kept his mind occupied. The resurrection of his legendary kingdom had to wait; Saber, his possession, had not yet returned to this world; this was the sole thing that kept his mind off those annoying delays.

Mankind thirsted for his rule, but he would properly vet each and every one of them before he would grant them the privilege of serving his illustrious person. Until that day, where Saber knelt before him and the world followed her example as the lucky few rose out of the black muck that seared their flesh, they would have to be patient, as he observed Kirei Kotomine parade himself around for his amusement. Oh what fun he had in this world of his; this eternal garden he would delight in possessing once more.

Yet, something was amiss, different from every other night. When the false priest got up, the king noticed a slight quaking. His body was barely able to contain itself… Something was weighing heavily upon his favorite jester. When the man finally turned to greet the King of Heroes, he did so with the widest grin he'd ever seen and an air of pure, unfettered bliss.

"Hello Kirei, you seem to be in high spirits today." Gilgamesh leaned forward as he spoke, scrutinizing the happy sadist with an astounding amount of detail. There was a lasting trace of magic, by the time he grasped it, realizing that it emanated from where he sat, it had evaporated entirely, yet it told him all it had to for Gilgamesh to understand the shift in mood.

"A visitor came by. An augur from an old friend, I believe, but I can't be sure."

As suspected. An old friend… not many earned that distinction. To date, Gilgamesh could only think of a single man who ever received that designation from the twisted partner who tended to this sanctum. "And this augur was a good one?"

Kotomine acquiesced. "At first, I wasn't sure what to make of it. It seemed like a joke done in poor taste; I spent the better part of the evening scouring the city's magic sources with divination and…"

"… and what, Kirei? You know better than to keep me in suspense."

His jubilance faded in a flash as he readied his body for the coming announcement. His every muscle hardened in anticipation of the capricious king's anger. "It appears that the Grail is no longer of this world."

"You mean to say that the filth was ever of this world to begin with?" Gilgamesh haughtily countered, prompting a pained face from the false priest as he debated how best to word the unfortunate news.

"That's not what I-"

The blonde's hand came up and the remaining words stayed trapped in the deviant's throat. The bored glint behind those slit pupils that Kotomine was so accustomed to seeing peer back at him was no longer present: "I understood what you wished to say. It's surprising to see mongrels display such contempt for their ruler that they would take what is rightfully mine."

Not good, the priest bit his lip as he assessed the situation. A rampaging self-proclaimed demi god was the last thing he wanted to have to deal with; as much fun as it might create, he had a duty to complete and a hunch to check up on before he could turn a blind eye to the fallen king's punitive hobby. "I was under the impression you hated that relic. If so, hasn't this turned into a boon that someone would cleanse your garden of its corrupting influence?"

"Come now, Kirei. You know it's the principle I cannot abide. Worms rising up to steal from their betters, preposterous. Still, you do tend to make valid points when you strive to keep me out of your way."

Kotomine didn't say a word. It would be useless to pretend, and insulting to try and lie to his old partner. Instead, he opted to stay quiet, and let Gilgamesh pass down the sentence he ordained for the troublemaker.

"The offense merits death, there can be no ambiguity about it," the fallen king mused out loud as he cupped his chin with his left hand, his other arm wrapped tightly around his chest and supporting said hand, "it went against my plans and wasted my time so it can't be a quick death either…" Finally, with the satisfied smile of a contented executioner, he concluded his deliberation. "But it can be delayed for now. Provided he becomes a useful pawn, I may yet consider clemency. Now, onto business, you said you aren't sure of the perpetrator's identity?"

"I believe Kiritsugu Emiya may be involved somehow, the outcome of the wish seems to correlate with part and parcel of his idealistic goals."

"You're hesitating, so you aren't entirely sure."

"That's correct. As much as I'd like to work under that assumption, I am first and foremost an overseer for the War and am obligated to conduct myself accordingly."

The smile was back on Kotomine's face, Gilgamesh noted that these duties of his have a lot in common with his penchants, this time proved to be no exception. "As such," the priest reprised, "I am honor-bound to proclaim the news to all parties involved which equates to three families I can be sure have a candidate prepared, one individual I personally know, and three unknowns among whom I assume our winner dwells."

"But speaking of thwarted plans, I must say I didn't expect such a tempered reaction out of you. Wasn't seeing the abomination at work the sole reason for your continued existence? What is it that still animates you if the Grail is gone?"

Kotomine chuckled. A legitimate question that elicited a well thought-out answer. "At first, I must confess it went exactly as you imagined it would. After I confirmed the truth, I was devastated. I couldn't phantom the idea of carrying on now that my whole reason for existing was taken from me. I was in absolute despair."

He stopped and sat to his partner's immediate left, leaving the pathway in the center of the chapel to be the sole divide between them. Kotomine's unfocused eyes wandered to his colleague found him when he entered the church. "I dropped to my knees right over there and waited. Waited for what? I have no idea, but I waited nonetheless. I don't know exactly how long I was in that semi-comatose state; however when I came to, an epiphany struck me: it wasn't the Grail I was after, it was what it would inflict upon the world that called out to me. Much like you, it was only the effective way to reach my goal."

The self-affirmed king did nothing to deny it, it was the path of least resistance. A discrepancy still overshadowed the whole argument, though. "Reaching your goal, naturally. And the cursed mud isn't what you seek? From my perspective, there's nothing separating the means and your goal."

"You'd be surprised. What I seek is Man's pain. I want to see him struggle and suffer, therein lies the beauty of life. I am empty except when I am called to witness it. It is my greatest joy that to perpetuate it. That is why I heal and aid others, so that they may hurt anew and return to me again, and so the cycle continues…"

Sensing that the priest was pausing in the hopes of receiving feedback, Gilgamesh did not tarry in voicing his skepticism. "And that trinket was the answer to that wish of yours. You're willing to forgive not seeing it come true; why?"

The priest's eyes narrowed back onto the likened soul that sat beside him. There was something within the fake holy man that Gilgamesh recognized as out of place. In lieu of sheer emptiness, there was something burning bright inside him. He occasionally saw that same fire reside in some of the parishioners that loitered around on Sunday mornings when he had nothing better to do than watch his old friend posture in front of a crowd of lost souls; they were captivated with the man in the cloth to the point of hanging at every word he said… Did Kotomine discover his purpose at long last? Was that fire he spotted… faith?

"I regret that I wasn't able to see the Grail grant our mystery friend's wish. On the other hand, it would have invariably ended with my own demise, an end to my eternal quest. For now, it suffices for me to know that it happened in some distant world far removed from our own. With that comes something just as tantalizing, I can turn my attention to the prize that lies near me: the distress that its absence will cause… I can hardly wait."

Gilgamesh laughed. His entire body convulsed wildly as his roaring laughter reverberated trhough the cavernous room. He couldn't stop it even if he tried, this was just too funny. He was right to pick Kirei over that boring teacher of his. This moment had been years in the making, the moment when his partner finally touched at the source of his own boundless happiness. In the King of Heroes' not so humble opinion, it was well worth the wait.

After quieting down his thorough enjoyment of the situation at hand, he took his leave. "I imagine you have a busy couple of days ahead of you, I'll let you get to it." The golden haired ruler was almost out the door when he voiced a last few words before parting. "Oh, and congratulations on recuperating that thing, you almost seem human now."

Kotomine clawed at his chest in shock. How hadn't he noticed it earlier? He could feel the rhythmic thumping of an organ he'd forgotten about many years ago. A mischievous grin tugged at the edge of his mouth when he recovered from the confusion. He was a very foolish man sometimes. He sought confirmation for the last several hours in the deepest recesses of the city when all the proof he ever needed sat right in front of him the whole time.

XXXXXXX

"I'm so sorry, Father," a figure shrouded in the darkness of her own room softly intoned as she mentally called for the runes etched on the floor to glow, "your daughter turned into a selfish and inconsiderate woman."

Rin Tohsaka made that phrase her mantra. Recently, she went against his wishes on a regular basis because she only had one wish in this world: to watch over her estranged sister. While inside the Matou residence, the magic engrained in the architecture prevented her from keeping an eye on her. The same did not hold true for the Emiya residence. As long as she was there or at school, or really anywhere other than under the direct grip of the maggot infested family, she could observe and eavesdrop to her heart's content. It warmed her heart to see that she could depend on Emiya to give her a semblance of normalcy, something she could not directly provide per the binding agreement the Tohsakas and Matous made.

The newcomer also seemed to be just as nice as the younger brother. She smiled softly; a good number of people were looking out for Sakura, and that eased her worries.

The peace would not last, however. The Bounded Field sounded off a warning, and much to her displeasure, the intruder was someone she was very familiar with. She hurried down the hallway and towards the main hall, still dressed in her typical uniform with her usual impeccable appearance and decorum to boot.

She spotted the stranger and didn't even bother to greet him. "What do you want, you failure of a priest?"

Kotomine nonetheless did as etiquette demanded with a devious smirk: "Hello, Rin. I would chastise you for never coming to visit but I'm here on official business this time."

"Oh?" Rin crossed her arms expectantly, a mocking air of superiority seeping out of her. "Then hurry up and spill it."

"I'll try to be brief…"

XXXXXXX

The rest of the evening went swimmingly. The girls didn't make too much of a fuss thereafter. Archer's introductions and the improbable arrival of a surprise sibling was swept away in a torrent of food and pleasant conversation. When the bell tolled one in the morning, Sakura and Taiga were already safely home and sound asleep. In contrast, the bulbs at the Emiya residence shined brightly as the duo of amateur magi began their plotting for the future.

Shiro was sitting on the wood porch, peacefully alternating between idly listening to Archer's monologues, sometimes cutting in to approve or disagree with the plans they concocted, and watching the starless skyline. He could dim the lights and watch the celestial orbs glow in the far off distance, but he felt too lazy to get up and do it. As it were, sleep was slowly creeping up on him as he sat there.

Whilst abroad, he forgot how he loved the gentle embrace of the Bounded Field around his house. It was a soothing aura that helped him center himself when he was younger; it was a tender embrace of magic he bathed in when Kiritsugu left him alone to watch the house. Every so often, he'd recall a glimpse of that distant time. Whenever his father came back, they made a point of sitting on this very spot and let the soft ebb and flow of the Field do its work, cradle them softly and lulling them into a state of deep relaxation until Shiro ultimately gave in and his role model tucked him in for the night. The way it was crafted, the care that was given to the Field's conception, the boy wanted to say that it felt like a piece of his father stayed behind, but that wasn't all it evoked. It held something beyond Kiritsugu's pride as a dad; the sensations had always been reminiscent of something Sjiro had forever been denied. It was almost…

 _Motherly…_

Strange, he'd never contemplated it from that angle before, and yet, he had to admit that was the perfect way to sum up the emotion the Field conjured within him. The stirring was there from the very first day he set foot in this house, it was bizarre that it took him over ten years to realize such a small detail.

"… that's why I think I'll go with a punch."

"You'll what?"

Suddenly, the air was forcefully expelled from his lungs. A sharp pain swelled up in his gut and drew him out of his reverie, forcing him to double over in pain. When he looked up, he saw Archer looming over him with his arms crossed over his chest, a decidedly angry scowl that paired up perfectly with the outburst of violence.

"Maybe next time, you'll think twice before you zone out in the middle of a conversation."

"You bastard…" The boy wheezed out with visible effort.

"Quit you're whining. At the very worst, your ribs are bruised. Avalon will heal you up in short order."

"You know damn well it isn't as effective when Saber isn't here," Shiro vehemently protested.

"Even better."

When he got his bearings back, he confirmed that the hit hadn't done any lasting damage. Aside from shortness of breath and a little tenderness at the point of impact, it didn't hurt all that badly. It did a lot to surprise the boy, and understanding that peaceful days were past, it was better for him to be put on guard as quickly as possible and always be mindful of his surroundings. He lost the habit of checking the environment, sure, but there had to be a better ways for Archer's to get his point across; he hated that guy sometimes.

He brought his hand up to his mouth to stifle a cough. When he drew it back, his attention as drawn to the few specks of blood splattered on his palm, maybe the hit was worse than he'd initially assumed.

"You had all evening to do it," Archer unceremoniously switched the subject without regard for Shiro's discovery, "why didn't you tell Sakura to stay over?"

The topic at hand made the red-haired boy forget all about his grievances. His light brown eyes gained a peculiar sadness. It was useless to pretend, Shiro Emiya would always want to protect those around him, and it was obvious his older self would question the reasons for the oversight. Still, it was absurd to imagine Archer couldn't draw his own conclusions without having to have the teenager spell it out, so why the interrogation?

"I would've liked to, but then…"

"Zouken Matou would be on to us and Sakura would be in his crosshairs."

Archer had indeed mulled the scenario over in his head. Why was he bringing it up if he understood the inherit risk for everyone involved if Sakura was sheltered? "Yeah," Shiro dejectedly admitted.

"What about Shinji? Did you forget about him?"

The comment stung. The one thing he had to purposefully put out of his mind to do the rational thing and Archer through it right back into his face. The boy glanced up at the man dressed in black. He might resemble his father, but from what he was told, he lacked the ruthlessness to do what was right.

"Our hands are tied, aren't they? We are out of options, and at least this way, she'll be away from harm for now."

"Tch." Archer clicked his tongue in disgust and turned his back to his younger self, either to hide his anger or to assess the state of the garden. "I'm only going to say this once: If your gut tells you that doing something is wrong, it's your job to figure out a better path."

Shiro was left befuddled by the advice. The Archer he remembered was always willing to do whatever it took to reach his ideals, no matter the cost. And now he was doing a complete reversal. "Then what do you propose we do? You're telling me to bring Sakura here and damn the consequences?"

"No, and you better open up your ears this time because this is as plain as I'll make it for you: there is right and there is wrong. A hero of justice has to be able to strive for what is good while doing the right thing, the ends do not justify the means."

"That's not possible and you know it, Kiritsugu always prioritized…"

Two powerful hands had gripped at his throat. In front of him was a man on the verge of a mental breakdown. The pain and hatred that danced across his face were impossible to miss, even as the hands squeezed tightly enough to make him choke. "You infantile boy!" Archer spat furiously. "How much of the world have you seen, huh? The Grail, the disaster, those were nothing compared to some of the things I was forced to watch, forced to do!"

Realizing what was said, the hands relinquished their hold, and Shiro, unaware that his future self brought him up to eye level, fell to his feet with a yelp as soon as he was loose. He painfully massaged his Adam's apple and gazed up at the Servant with a bewildered look.

The sudden frenzy passed, leaving a more restrained expression, but the white-haired man was still unapologetic. "Trust me, you don't want to turn into him. So stop hiding behind his memory and do things the way you think _you_ should handle it. As for Sakura, we aren't the only ones who can look after her. In fact, we're probably way less competent than the alternative is."

Finally, the meaning behind the enigmatic words sunk in. There was another possibility he failed to consider. "Tohsaka."

The Spirit nodded. "Now you're thinking."

With that, the Servant nonverbally dismissed his partner and pulled a burner phone from his pocket while making a bee-line for the shed. From afar, he heard a voice call out to him. "Something happened to you since the Grail War." The Servant stopped in his tracks and glanced over his shoulder in the speaker's direction. "One of these days, you'll have to tell me."

"Don't count on it."


	4. Chapter 3

**Enjoy:**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Revealing What Was**

The Heroic Spirit wandered aimlessly amidst the smoldering ruins. His feet shuffled across the uneven wreckage. Shiro was lost, and so he walked without a goal. His body moved of its own accord, shifting across what was left of the orphanage as he waited to be sent back to the Blade Works. His mind was broken anew, torn asunder and the pieces ground to dust as he bore witness to the fate of those he yearned to save.

Bullets and glass shredded his insides with each fresh breath he took. In front of him, the smoke grew denser as fires raged all around. And yet, neither of those things were what caused tears to swell up in his eyes and flood down his cheeks. In the distance, the siren of an ambulance roared. Archer smile sadly, bitterly, as he listened to the tell-tale sign of rescue growing fainter with every passing second; they weren't coming to save the victims of the bombing, no one would.

The people despised what the orphanage represented: a symbol of authoritarian rule, supported by the trained hands of children soldiers abducted from their homes and turned into killing machines. When all was said and done, the average person hardly cared about what happened to a bunch of snot-nosed punks that raided their homes regularly. They would forever remember those that dwelt here as instruments of tyranny, not -as Archer came to learn- victims of a cruel regime that brainwashed them from the crib.

His semi-conscious searching came to a close when he saw a hand poke out of the rubble, the fingers twitched to life and the Spirit ran to the trapped child. After deterring the body, he came face to face with a brown haired boy he'd met a few days ago. The boy wheezed, his face shredded and much of the rest of his body had been mangled and crushed beyond recognition, but that uncanny glint in his eye and raspy voice clued Shiro in.

"Took you long enough to visit, old man." The boy tried to laugh, but instead he started coughing, blood gurgled out of the side of his mouth as he found the strength to smile in spite of the agony.

"I'm sorry, Mikael, I-"

The boy -Mikael- raised up his hand to silence the Spirit. He didn't want to hear it, there was something he needed to know before he passed away, "The General, is he dead?"

Mikael's voice quivered as he asked. Whether it was the pain of his failing body or fear of the sadistic warlord that made the boy's voice tremble, Archer couldn't be sure. He grabbed the intact hand that waved him over with a weary smile of his own. "I killed him myself," the Guardian assured the dying child.

There was an audible sigh of relief, a great weight had been lifted off the martyred youth. His gaze went unfocused, his pupils tilted to the side. At that moment, Shiro knew, Mikael had passed away. He held on to the boy's hand as he sat down next to the corpse, rocking himself forward and backward as he tried to piece together where he messed up. Off in the corner, a shadow appeared and progressively became more distinct as it advanced. The most noticeable feature was the spiky hair and the cigarette sticking out of the stranger's mouth. The shadow slinked up next to the sobbing Spirit whose quiet weeping stopped in a moment of clarity.

"Kiritsugu…" The Spirit spoke up, still visibly shaken as he let go of Mikael's hand and rose up to meet the newcomer. "Why did you do it?"

The mage killer's aura was unique, his adoptive son could place the man in any context, any setting. He met him after the Counter-Force sent him back to Earth for his latest mission. Upon realizing that they hunted the same target, they agreed to collaborate to eliminate the General, a threat to the world and a highly skilled Clock Tower defector. And work together they did, planning the ambush, driving the finishing blow as the enemy went running for cover. It was only now, faced with the inevitable consequences, that Archer understood the folly of working with Kiritsugu.

The mercenary held his head high, there was a weary expression that washed over his visage. A mixture of regret and lassitude the man couldn't help but express. "It was necessary."

"Necessary…" The Spirit repeated dumbfounded.

Kiritsugu's hands dove into his pockets in search of a lighter, gunshots began echoing outside of the ruined heap of charred brick and broken glass: the citizens were rioting. The mage-killer lit up the cigarette and let loose a puff of smoke. "They would've been sent out to keep the peace. More people'll survive this way, and we had to flush him out somehow."

Shiro winced at the mention of the word us. His father was right, the blood was on his hands just as much as Kiritsugu's, there could be no denying it. He was the one who investigated the orphanage in the first place, discovered the covert testing facility inside the halls of the orphanage the General created in his frantic search to build the perfect soldier. He had more than his fair share of responsibility for the bombs going off on the premise.

"There's no point beating yourself up over it," Kiritsugu reprised. "The Association is already cleaning up the city, this was gonna be their first stop. This way, they never saw it coming."

"That doesn't make this right."

The elder Emiya clicked his tongue in annoyance. "There's nothing right about war, no matter the age. I thought you knew that."

"That doesn't mean I have to-"

Archer's words were caught in his throat as he saw another shadow pierce the veil of smoke and come up next to the mercenary. Noting his confederate's confusion, Kiritsugu belayed his fears. "She helped me set the explosives." He knelt down beside her and took to brushing her raven hair aside, revealing two strikingly intense eyes that chilled the Spirit: a kid should never have the look of a killer.

But she did, and despite not saying a word, he could feel a suffocating presence emanating from her, the result of those secretive experiments, no doubt. The mage-killer didn't seem to mind, he gave her directions back to his safe house and she unsteadily made her way there in her tattered green dress, the last remnants of her military past.

When she vanished from view, the gun-for-hire peered back at his son with a hard look. "She can't even remember her own name; they took her very identity."

The man picked himself up and gave his handiwork one last glance before turning his back on the Spirit who assisted him. "I guess we'll meet next time the world is in danger."

"Before you go, I need to ask you something."

The mage-killer stopped in his tracks and waited for the Spirit to continue.

"If you had a son, would you want him to follow in your footsteps?"

"If I had a son…" Kiritsugu mused, "I'd want him to be a better person than his old man, that's for sure. Why do you ask?"

"Call it a whim."

As soon as he finished his sentence, vertigo overtook him, that was the signal that his work was done and the Blade Works had him back in its grasp. His body tore itself apart, disintegrating into flickers of mana that were displaced alongside the dying embers of the fires that abounded. As he returned to his eternal prison, an unhuman screeched burst out from him. A screech that turned to sobbing as his mind finally broke apart into as many pieces as his ephemeral vessel. Kiritsugu ignored the agonizing yells of his cohort and went back to walking, certain in the fact that -despite his parting words- the Counter Force wouldn't send that particular Guardian back to save the world. Someone as broken inside as that white-haired boy was unfit for duty. It was a shame his mind had to shatter right then. He would add his name to the list of casualties… if only he'd given him a name.

Elsewhere, outside of time and space, the screams of Shiro Emiya reverberated as the Blade Works enacted his frightful curse. Whenever he killed a man, as part of penance, he was obliged to replicate the weapon his victim used as the chant proclaimed.

 _I am the bone of my sword._

He dug deep into his abdomen and snapped off a piece of his ribs. The pain was excruciating but he knew it wouldn't kill him, he wasn't allowed to die. Not now, not ever. As soon as he tossed the bone fragments unto the rock that served as his anvil, the rib morphed. It twisted and contorted into a hilt, an exact copy of the ceremonial dagger the warlord carried around on his person at all times: the symbol of his magical inheritance.

 _Steel is my body._

He summoned his duel pair of swords and dug the blades into his body, carving out a clump of flesh he placed next to the hilt. He trembled a bit, his strength was failing him, but the Blade Works was merciless in its quest to inflict its prisoner eternal torment. Every fiber of his being cried out at him, urging him to carry on his grim task as a pair of chains shot down from the machinery rotating in the sky. The chains tore into his shoulders and down his back, then retracted and pulled him back upright. Thus he was readied for the last part.

 _Fire is my blood._

His arm hovered over the clump of flesh, blood flowed freely from the gashes in his shoulder and all he had to do was let the crimson droplets splash on the offering he made of his flesh and bone. The blood in his veins had elicited a new bout of screaming as his capillaries heated up, searing him from the inside out. The droplets that made it to the stone anvil dissolved the flesh upon contact. The liquefied remains came to life and slithered in search of the bone hilt. Once connected to the rest of its ensemble, the flesh hardened, turning grey as it stretched into a curved edge. The assembled knife looked dangerous, an elegant pattern of screaming faces was etched along the sides of the blade and connected with two skeletons holding hands at the base of the pommel.

The knife flew up and planted itself into Archer's side, at the exact spot where he harvested the materials. With a grunt, he pulled the new addition to his collection out of its human sheathe and sent it flying into the forest of blades that littered his otherworldly cell. With that, he atoned for yet another death, but still he grieved.

The metal binds released him and he fell face first into the rocks, too exhausted to care about a few more scratches. His wounds slowly healed themselves, and as he laid down on the ground all alone, he flipped over onto his back and stared up at the gears that moved in and out of the stormy skies.

"I'm done killing," Archer softly intoned as a fresh slew of faces he failed to save flashed into his imagination. "I'll never take a life again."

He awoke in a futon, the light had just started pouring in from the outside, filtered by the curtains drawn over the window. On the other side of the room, the hallway was silent: Shiro must have already left for school. In the corner, the red letters on the alarm clock flashed 8:15.

Archer groggily slid out of his bed and folded the mattress away with the practiced ease that came naturally to a man who went through the same tedious motions every morning of his childhood. Afterward, he was off to the kitchen to fix himself something before going out for the day. He was surprised to find a note taped to the exterior of the fridge.

 _Mr. Emiya,_

 _I hope we weren't too loud this morning. Senpai told me you had a habit of making yourself breakfast but I hope you won't mind the fact that I already made you something to start the day off right. I know it isn't much or very elaborated but it would've been cruel to just leave you to make your own meal a day after traveling from overseas._

 _I hope you spend a pleasant day and please don't push yourself. I understand that you had business to take care of in town so I ask that you don't place undue stress while you're still adjusting._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Sakura Matou_

 _P.S: I took the liberty of inputting my number into your phone. That way, you have someone you can contact in case you need anything. Don't hesitate to call._

Archer went over to the living room and pulled out the cell he borrowed from his father's collection. Sure enough, there was her number, filed under her name and a miniature avatar of herself waving at the user. Her concern was sweet, if a little off-putting. Archer, ever truthful to the mage label, didn't have much of an aptitude for electronic devices beyond making them work properly. How Sakura managed to program something so complex in the span of a morning was baffling… as was her apparent obsession with making sure he had everything he needed.

He looked inside the fridge and found a bowl of rice and some mackerel carefully covered in foil. A few supplementary preparations made and he was ready to eat. As he took a mouthful after another, his mind wondered as to the significance of the dream. This was the first time he dreamt since being made into a Guardian, and it had to be that unpleasant memory that bubbled back up to the forefront of his psyche. It was on that day that he gave up the mission the Counter-Force burdened him with. It tried to send him back out into the world one more time thereafter, but he refused to carry out the kill order. He was then confined until Shiro's not-so-elegant blunder into the astral prison.

Kiritsugu was right about one thing, it was useless to cry over what was irreversible. He was a Heroic Spirit, his body count was too high to keep track of; and yet, he held on to a glimmer of hope. Going forward, he had a choice to make: either act like his father or do things his way without murdering a single person.

Easier said than done. Regardless, he would hold fast to his new principles. For if he didn't, there might not be enough sanity to stick him back together if he ever went off the deep end…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As he walked down the hall of his school, Shiro felt a strange chill crawl up his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he instinctively headed for the source of the magical flare up: the roof.

It was a little past noon; everyone was busy eating. As was customary at that time, Shiro had elected to eat with in the Student Council office, a humble club room that his good friend Issei Ryuudou frequented when he wasn't in class or at the temple his family directed. The red-haired boy finished early and excused himself after repeated pleading on Issei's behalf to stay and talk.

He hurried up the stairs and examined the roof: it was deserted. Shiro blinked in surprise. Strange, he could have sworn he sensed Tohsaka's power coming from nearby. He scratched his head as he embarrassingly admitted to his own self that it was likely wishful thinking on his part. The prodigal mage was the very person he wanted to check up on, it was possible that he just imagined the burst in mana. Things pointed to that being the case, which called into question all the training he'd undergone since the War to become a better mage. If his instincts tricked him so easily, he had serious practicing to do.

There was a buildup of energy behind him and Shiro reflexively ducked before narrowly dodging a second mana bullet that came after the first nearly grazed his head. He turned around to face his attacker and saw Rin Tohsaka pointing her index finger at him, her hand had been shaped into the form of a pistol. The boy grimaced, he'd been had indeed, but not in the same way he thought. The school idol he went looking for opted to lure him into a trap, which could only mean one thing…

"How did you know?" Shiro asked as he assumed a defensive posture, ready to dive out of the way as soon as she fired off another round of projectiles.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Emiya." Tohsaka admonished with a wide smile as she adjusted her aim to compensate for her target's erratic evasion. "You're supposed to say; "You're a mage too, Miss Tohsaka?""

"Miss Tohsaka?" The boy rubbed his head with a puzzled face. "Don't you have a bit of an ego?"

The proud mage's face dropped, she narrowed her eyes angrily and fired off another shot at his feet. "Fine, let's move on. You're a mage as well, isn't that right."

It wasn't a question; it was a declaration. One she made as the ever confident daughter of her proud lineage, with a knowing smirk that belittle the boy and aggravated him each time he was privy to having it directed right at him. As much as he'd like to dwell on that inopportune fact, there were more pressing concerns, such as the inevitable conclusion that pushed her to challenging another mana adept.

"You think I'm after the Grail."

It was logical: eliminate the competition before the War even began and you were all the more assured you'd succeed. That had to be the motive for her brash assault, the guerilla tactics and the ball of prickly red energy that was massing at her fingertips as they conversed.

Rin shook her head no, much to Shiro's bewilderment. "Give me a little credit. I know you don't care about obtaining it," her other hand placed itself on her hips and a glare replaced her triumphant and superiority-driven smirk, "you already won the War. You made your wish and the Grail was destroyed in the process."

The possibilities nagged at Shiro's mind. There's only one person that could've deduce his identity as the winner of the 5th War. "Is that what Kirei Kotomine told you?"

The knowing smirk was back in full-force. "You gave away the fact that you are aware of Kotomine's role as judge, something very few people would be capable of learning outside of the Mage's association, and since I double checked to see if your name was on the roster... Not very smart."

Wait, so she went out on a limb? She had to have known he was a mage, but how? Then it hit him: the surge of magic. She detonated the mana in his general vicinity and waited for him to get flushed out, a regular human being wouldn't have followed the proverbial trail of breadcrumbs she left out to see if he could sense magic. The question remained, nevertheless, that something had to have tipped her off for him to be singled out.

The black-haired mage studied the facial expressions of her foe from afar, appreciating the shift in moods that swirled around his face as the wheels inside his head painfully turned. He was a bit dim, but not all the way stupid, she may as well be nice and provide the answer to the unspoken query that threw him for a loop. "Not many people have a white-haired brother, especially one that shows up on the exact same day the supervisor of the Holy Grail War goes out of his way to let the other participants know the ritual is canceled."

Shiro chewed out his lower lip. She's been watching him, no doubt keeping tabs on Sakura as it was the only time Archer ever referred to himself as Yoshiro Emiya. Kotomine told her that a white-haired man came by and declared a particular Master was the winner and she carefully put two and two together until he accidentally clued her in not once but twice in the span of a few minutes.

"What do you want, then?"

Sensing that Shiro made no effort to try and flee, Rin lowered her hand and spoke her mind. "I want information about the War."

Information. The boy was in a bit of a bind; things could get tricky if he refused to answer. Then again, what did he have to lose. "What do you want to know?"

Tohsaka lightly nodded her head as her brows furrowed, the thing she was about to ask seemed an especially painful thing to say for the young mage, it must be something very near and dear to her. "How did I die?"

Shiro blinked.

"Huh?"

"Sheesh, do I need to repeat myself? How did I die?!" Her tone was angry this time around, almost as though she assumed that his hesitation was due to some hidden enjoyment he took from hearing her repeat the phrase. She obviously had one too many dealings with the demented fake priest if that were her first guess.

As for why she inquired… It was likely she yearned to learn about what did her in so that she might rectify her behavior accordingly. All in all, it was a sound thing to ask of the victor as the boy realized that the Grail itself was meaningless to Rin. Personal improvement topped her list of concerns.

'You didn't die."

It was Rin's turn to blink.

"Pardon?"

"You didn't die." The boy pressed on. "There were extenuating circumstances and we ended up working together for a while." The boy's mind could picture the time they'd spent as a team fly by in a flash before his mind's eye in three separate timelines, though some… intimate… memories lingered longer than others. "Long story short is you survived the War while I was declared the winner."

"So you didn't kill me?" She cautiously reiterated.

"That's right," he confirmed.

"Because we worked together."

"We were allied," Shiro clarified mater-of-factly.

"I had to be in the race as a potential Master while we cooperated; why didn't you eliminate me to hedge your bets?"

"I can never do that to you," came the heartfelt reply. "You were my friend."

"Your friend?" Tohsaka burst into mad fits of giggling. It was bizarre to see the ever-so-composed mage overtaken by such an 'unbecoming' -as she would put it- emotion when in public. Regaining her composure, she whipped away a tear that trickled down. "You must have a soft spot if that's all it took." Shiro's face darkened after being laughed at, His face turned sullen. "Don't make such a scary face, Emiya. From the way you made it sound, we were lovers or something."

"We…" Shiro wanted to protest, but the words 'were not' stayed stuck in his throat for a fraction of a second too long.

The laughing halted, the smiling vanished. Instead, Shiro was faced with a young girl that realized her school crush had already… "W-wait!" She backed away slowly until her back was against the metal door she locked on her way up to catch her prey. "W-we… You and me…"

The red-haired boy was feeling every bit as embarrassed as she was. However, before he could say the first words that came into his mind to smooth over this awkward development. Rin Tohsaka ran back inside as the bell resounded. The boy pondered his predicament for a moment before coming to a grim conclusion.

"Archer's not gonna like this."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When it came to spotting a suspicious person in a crowd, Archer's improved eyesight was a boon that made him rather glad he was selected for the class. It came in handy today of all days, as he split through the busy crowds that filled downtown to the brim. Off one of the main streets was a western café that only the most of locals noticed during their treks to and fro work. Shiro learned of its existence a year or two after he started working at the Copenhagen bar and restaurant. It was on the way back from work, as he pondered what he'd make for dinner, that he saw the neon sign beckon him closer. After checking his wallet, he made a pit stop to see if it was any good and has since then made sure to come back at least once every few months. The walls were painted beige that insured the bits of light that shun into the restaurant gave off a warm glow while still hiding from the view of nosy onlookers. It was clean and inconspicuous, the reason for which Archer thought it best to set the meeting there.

Dressed in his borrowed suit, he looked the part of a corporate tool on the prowl for a small place to grab a late lunch before making his way back to the cubicle. He opened the glass door and was greeted by the fragrance of herbs that hung over the place of business as its very own staple smell. He'd grown indifferent to it, as he did the waiter who were busy talking amongst themselves. He pushed past the front desk and picked the anonymous contact out of the small gathering of workers that ate -sometimes alone, sometimes with colleagues- by the way he uncomfortably shifted around in his chair.

Archer was unimpressed. If this man was supposed to be an expert at what he did, he'd hate to see a rookie do the same job. While the contact was surveying the room one last time, the man he came to meet snuck up unseen until he had a proper view of the package placed next to the chair he occupied. It was a brown box with a cover that locked into place without the need for locks, just flip it open and it would reveal its content to any curious passerby. It wasn't enchanted nor did he see the man have a weapon at the ready; odds were the man was in fact the right guy and procuring the artifact hadn't proved too much.

"Regus?" Archer enquired as he sat in the empty chair across from the suspicious man.

The man jumped, and after he regained his bearings, nodded. "You're the guy the Association sent? Velvet's student?"

True, it was the alias Archer used to hire the thief, but very few people outside the Association's academic institutions knew the penchant for member mages to find rare or ancient artifacts that had to be 're-appropriated' through the use of the magical underworld's unique array of services. Students were often conscripted by their professors to carry out the work of the middlemen in the event that another mage family would learn of the transaction. Their reputation was immune to the backlash, the students were left with a slap on the wrist for misconduct and garnered the trust and affection of those whose dirty work they took care of. All in all, it was a win-win for everyone, except the ones whose prized possessions were stolen.

"You have it?" Archer gestured at the package and the man operating under the alias Regus carefully placed it on the table for the client's inspection.

"Hella tough to get it, but it was right where you said it would be. Though I'm pretty sure Tokyo's a no-go for the next couple of months, just sayin'."

The box opened and Archer was privy to the familiar sight of a very dangerous weapon. An ancient dagger with a smooth grip and a blade that swerved in a serpentine fashion. A gash from such a weapon, if it was allowed to dig into someone's flesh up to the hilt, would prove to be fatal. Archer found Rule Breaker.

The thief noted the small smile drawn across Archer's lips as sign that he'd gotten the right object. "To tell ya the truth, I don't see what you'd do with a knife like that. If you were going for a ceremonial weapon, I got a prime deal on a shipment of Nigerian blood letters if you're interested."

The Heroic Spirit slid the Noble Phantasm into the pocket inside his jacket and returned the container to the procurer. "This'll do. The Association will foot the bill."

The thief raised up his hand to protest. "Nah, the professor's done right by me, we'll call it even. And give him my best while you're at it."

The Guardian was happy to see that, for once, things had gone way better than anticipated. Waver Velvet's reputation preceded him even before Shiro was acquainted with the distant teacher with tenure, making use of it for the greater cause was harmless enough as far as schemes Archer had devised went. The Spirit left without another word just as Regus, now visibly relieved, called a waiter over and ordered a fifth of vodka that soon turned into several bottles.


	5. Chapter 4

**Enjoy:**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Mage in Life and in Death**

Old man Zouken Matou marveled as the stormy clouds rolled over the city at a frantic pace. Monsoon weather in the middle of winter was an odd sight. The elder mage watched the abnormal weather, weary at the prospect of being forced above ground to greet a visitor he was not at all fond of. His presence was an ill omen onto itself, casting a lingering doubt on the elder's mind as to whether or not it was wise to let the person enter his domain. Alas, what was done was done. That the intrusive rays of the sun were blocked out by the ominous black mass lording over the Japanese metropolis was the only blessing Zouken could account for. The curtains, drawn over the windows so as to obscure the last remnants of natural light that found their way down from the heavens, cast shades of red over the dining room. The wormy old man sat at the main table, a good five rows of opposing chairs and an imposing oak table separated him from the man that solicited an audience this early in the day.

It was a man Zouken knew all too well. In the 4th War, he was the Tohsaka envoy; and since that fateful day they met approximately a decade ago, the priest progressively came closer to fully realizing his potential as a growing thorn in his side; from hollowed-out shell to bona fide monster in the flesh, a true wolf in sheep's clothing. Fitting, the old man noted, as the man still wore a cross around his neck.

"What did you come here for, Kotomine?" The elder mage asked gravely.

Kirei was the polar opposite of the Makiri head. He sat proudly whereas the old man hunched forward; he smiled broadly and appeared as jovial as could be whilst the elder, worn down by the centuries, sat frowning and shriveled up in a body that was on the verge of collapse. As happy as the priest seemed to be, he at least had the courtesy to contain his enthusiasm to a slight devious smirk carved into his face. "You seem displeased to see me, Zouken Matou."

"Displeased doesn't begin to cover it," the old man huffed, his shaky fingers held firmly to the walking cane he kept in his lap. "Well, what are you waiting for? State your business before I have you thrown out."

"My apologies, and here I came all this way to personally inform you of the 5th Holy Grail War's most recent developments. Perhaps I was wrong to assume you'd wish to hear the news."

It was an obvious provocation, but Zouken was too far invested in the Grail, his last hope, to not bite hook, line, and sinker. "News? Ha! If it's about who's joining the contest, I'd rather not spoil the surprise," the old man dismissed with a snort.

Kirei knew better, as did Zouken. He was prodding around the issue, trying to noncommittally force the observer to divulge this information he thought wise to tease the Makiri patriarch into begging for; it had to be extraordinary for the priest to rear his head in the middle of the lion's den.

"Actually, no…" Should he rip the old man's hopes apart in one fell swoop or gently draw out the pain by throwing bits and pieces here and there? He did set aside the entire afternoon to crushing the vicious, crumbling, vestige of a mage; but he had to make preparations to leave the country soon… Kotomine agonized over the choices.

"Out with it," the Makiri head growled.

That settled it.

"The Grail is gone."

Zouken opened his mouth, only to close it again. He repeated the same action several times before a timid sound in the form of a plaintiff moan. The room became a blur as he struggled, in vain, to keep his composure. Regaining a sense of balance, he eyed the priest; rage had enveloped him, contorted his face into a pale, wrinkle-laden mask from whence two powerful coals burned within ancient sockets. Anger bubbled up in his throat as he croaked out a series of sounds that made up a nearly coherent phrase.

"What… do… you… mean…?"

"As I said, the Grail is gone. The ritual has to be annulled." The priest, amused, continued on as if everything were in order, and the sorry excuse for a human being that thrashed about, almost foaming at the mouth, wasn't undergoing a mental breakdown.

"You can't do this," the old man groaned as the extremities of his limbs reverted to a mass of wriggling worms that escaped their master's control.

"You know as well as I do that I don't make the rules. I am sorry to say -I truly regret it- but it appears that the Tohsaka, Makiri and Einzbern ritual ended in absolute failure."

The tense body suddenly relaxed as the figure threw itself against the back of the chair. Zouken's face was barely visible amidst the writhing worms that punctured through the outer layers of his skin. The old man despaired, but as he stood on the brink of death, he gathered the courage to say a few last words to the guest that was on his way out the door. "Liar, you're not the least bit sorry about this."

Kirei chuckled and turned to the dying vestige of a long dead era with a dangerous twinkle in his eye. "You have quite an eye, Zouken Matou;" the priest laughed. "I'm not so far removed from you, you know. I'm just a worm, attracted to the husk that you've turned into on your path to misery."

Kotomine took a few steps and opened the ornate ivory door that gave way to the mansion entrance hall as he mulled over a few more words of parting, a slight frown on his face as he stood lost in contemplation. "Don't worry, though. I'm sure your family will be in good hands with your grandson at the helm."

The barely living body disintegrated where it sat, the remnants of a man that, verily, hadn't truly been alive in years. Nonetheless, before he finally passed, and just as a blue-haired boy tended an ear at the door to hear the exchange, Zouken said his final words: "You're a cruel man," the dead man sighed as his final gasp exited his body.

The door flew open abruptly and the priest came face to face with the eavesdropper. Kotomine placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and smirked. "For my part, I'm eager to see what you'll do, Shinji Matou. But in all fairness to your ancestor, you aren't starting in a very favorable position, I'll say that much and leave at that."

The seeds of discord thus sown, Kirei took his leave with a corpse's worth of worms writhing until death claimed them in abject agony and a resentful heir left in his wake.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Contrary to what the weather reports suggested, it did rain. Not only did it rain, it poured. Archer took in deep breaths as he ran home and gently laid the person he carried down on the hardwood floor. The figure was drenched, shrouded in a strange garb that covered its entire form, the face was hidden behind a hood and the rest of the body was clad in robe to which was sown a cloak that afforded even more anonymity. However, from what he already knew, and the soft gasping that traversed the weary individual's lips, it was easy to discern her as a woman. And not just any woman, a formidable mage he came to refer to as Caster.

Her eyes were open and moving from one object to another, indicating she was keenly aware of her surroundings though still too weak to say or do much. The Guardian briefly examined the summoned Spirit before leaving Rule Breaker on a nearby table and returning to her side. "Don't try to speak, you'll only hurt yourself. When you feel strong enough, try and raise your head slightly. When you can do that, you should be free to get up without the risk of fainting."

She couldn't nod but Archer assumed she heard him. He went to shut the sliding door he hastily opened with his feet as he carried her into her new room and went to sit in the corner, ready to fetch her whatever she needed. It took around an hour before he patience paid off; he saw the light tilt of her head harboring a sufficient amount of muscle to come off the ground, then her hands moved away from her sides and rested palms down on the floor. With great effort, she intoned in a barely audible voice. "Water?"

He came back a few seconds later with a glass and handed it to her. She grasped it with both of her shaky hands before bringing the cup up to her lips and unsteadily taking a sip. She placed the glass down on the ground with a small heave. 'Thank you."

"Uh-huh," Archer acquiesced but didn't dwell, noticing she had more she wanted to say.

"I have questions," she stated slowly, glancing to her left and right now that she was in a better position. The room looked perfectly average: Japanese style, white wall, sliding doors with half the room split between a wooden floor and a carpet. Utterly ordinary.

"About the Holy Grail War?"

She dipped her head affirmatively.

"It's no longer in existence but… I'm still here."

"How did you find out?" He questioned, mostly for the sake of forcing the one he rescued from the storm to clear up the cobwebs in her brain and think back to the time prior to the summoning. A few mental exercises in her condition wouldn't do her harm.

"I… just know it. The same way I know that thing filling this room with synthetic light is called a lightbulb," she gestured up above at the incandescent orb. "I just do."

The Servant evaluated her statement, and guessing it was the most he was getting out of her, he spoke in turn. "Then there's no point beating around the bush. We're here because it's been decided Servants of the 5th Holy Grail War deserve a second chance at living a normal life. I'm here to help with that."

"So you're a Servant as well. Your class is…"

"Archer."

The masterful mage carefully looked over the self-identified Archer. No bow in sight, nor any weapon for that matter. He was dressed in a suit in lieu of the any type of light armor. He must've been disguising himself in order to move unseen in the larger city she just spawned into. Unfortunately, that implied she couldn't gather any clues on their first meeting; piecing together Archer's true name would be her first task.

That could wait; for now, pleasantries were in order. It was the least she could do as thanks for bringing her in from out of the rain and returning her Noble Phantasm.

"Caster." She looked around some more before cautiously continuing with a bow, her head hanging low in a show of respect. "I'll be in your care; I hope you'll continue to look after me."

"Mm-hmm," Archer stood cross-armed with a doubtful expression.

Caster sensed tension. There was an era of distrust present in her rescuer's conduct that bothered her. Worst-case scenarios assaulted her imagination by the dozens, to the point where she felt the all-consuming need to clear the air. "Is something the matter?" She asked in a docile voice.

"You were scrutinizing me; what are you after?"

She resisted the urge to chew at her lower lip as she ruminated, mystified as to why someone she just met, and who helped no less, would hold such an unhealthy amount of distrust. Not that it wasn't warranted… yet how did he figured it out so quickly?

"Nothing at all," she lied. "Are you usually this reserved?"

"Only with people I don't trust."

She recoiled, the blunt answer surprised her. She maintained her composure and retorted in kind. "Then why help me if I inspire so much distrust?"

The Guardian came forward, so close that Caster, even with the bravado she displayed as she spoke, crawled back in order to keep a decent bit of ground between her and the other Servant. She was still very fragile, and recovering from the nauseating experience of higher-level summoning magic; that did not mean she'd permit this man she wrongly believed to be her benefactor to kill her like some common animal on the chopping block.

Seeing her recoil, the figure froze where it crouched. His hand extended from his side and picked up the glass of water left unattended. The Spirit presented the cup to his cohort and she accepted the offer with a deliberately slow show of wariness. Her pupils peaked from under her hood as she took a sip and kept a watchful eye as the Spirit sat down next to her.

"Just because I don't trust you doesn't mean I don't want to help you," he replied simply, tending an ear to the raucous the rapidly-evolving storm caused outside. For her part, the mage sat with her cup in her hands, her suspicious gaze lingering on the enigmatic Heroic soul.

"Some might say that's not a healthy outlook on life."

"Some, not you. Am I right?"

She looked down at the glass she nurtured, the reflection of a woman she barely recognized as being the same Medea of Greece that sought to protect others at the cost of her own reputation.

"Experience changes people. The same holds true in your case, I would venture a guess"

"Already have me all figured out," said Archer, a hand on his knee as the other stretched out across the floor. "You didn't even have to resort to plots to find that out."

"Plots?" Caster feigned ignorance.

"Don't give me that," the Guardian countered faster than the sorceress' fake indignation could form and then vanish from her shrouded face. Archer had to hand it to her, she was a convincing actor to throw her whole body into a performance in the improbable event that he could see her temper swings. She was just as on-guard as he was, not to mention her attentiveness to her cover would've fooled anyone else; still, it was for naught. "You wake up in a strange place, with a stranger guy watching over you and your first priority isn't to find out who and why? I'd be disappointed if you said yes."

"Anyway," Caster cleared her throat as she changed the conversation, obviously unsettled and unused to how candid the one designated as Archer was being, "you said you wanted to help me…"

"Exactly." Archer reprised and dropped the lack of trust issue without a fuss. "I was partnered up with a Master destined to fight in the War and together we agreed to help those summoned to live out normal…" He paused and took the time to look his charge over before correcting himself. "… or semi-normal lives. You can stay here as long as you need, we'll give you a hand if you need help integrating into modern society."

"All out of the goodness of your heart?" Sarcasm oozed out of the master mage's words. The veteran Guardian likened her reaction to that of a cynic holding an idealist in contempt for being an unapologetic idiot. Archer conceded, in this odd twist of fate, he must've come off as a grade A dumbass to put it mildly.

"Goodness or not, that was my wish when I ended the War."

There was an awkward moment of silence that reigned over. Caster solved the jigsaw puzzle Archer's declaration presented her with, and she did not appreciate the mental picture she was confronted with, the prospect of her own mortality was now her greatest concern.

"It makes senses," she broached the matter coldly, rationally, as would a scientist faced with an unexpected finding he nevertheless had to acknowledge as the logical conclusion. "Only the Holy Grail's magic could destroy itself and demonstrate something akin to True Magic: time travel. Am I missing something?"

Lots, but Archer wasn't about to waste time on the details. The idea was there; a decent start. "So far, so good."

"Then it isn't goodness, it's remorse… for killing the other Servants… me included." It left a bitter taste in her moth, to comprehend the simple fact that her would-be savior murdered her in another life. Intelligence, or lack thereof didn't prevent her from stomaching the epiphany, it was the primal need of living that sent her mind into a downward spiral of fear and regret that such an unassuming personage got the better of her.

"I guess you can see it that way." The Heroic Spirit shrugged as he stood up and made his way out of Caster's newest lodging. Before he could move forward, he felt a tug on his coat. Caster held him back, she had uncovered her face and a pair of blue eyes hidden by tousled hair of the same color gawked at him with a mixture of dread and gratitude.

"Thank you for reviving me; thank you for your wish."

Honestly, Archer assumed she would hate him at this point. He supposed, however, that to someone who had a wish they yearned for, another person sacrificing their own desires out of a sense of obligation was honorable. Problem was Archer wasn't the same Shiro Emiya that entered the Blade Works. He had no wish of his own, and lacked he will to set froth another goal apart from the commandment he created to retain some measure of sanity: "none must die while I'm around."

The man was just a withered husk, a dead man still walking among the living because he couldn't bear the idea of dying without succeeding. He retuned Caster hope-filled glance with a tender smile of his own and took her hand in his. When she finally released her hold, he turned around and left. He couldn't stand to look at her any longer. He saw in her a want, a need that drove her and gave her comfort. The Heroic Spirit Emiya was envious of her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hey, you there?"

Shiro called out from the entrance as he stowed away his shoes. A shadow emerged from the living room and tossed him a towel, which he used to draw his hair a bit before stepping onto the wood floor. His older-self retreated to the end of the hall and silently beckoned the boy to follow. The pair came to the hallway that gave out to the courtyard, the same place they first planned to work as a team. The Guardian pointed at a room opposite to the glass that separated them from the howling storm. The high-schooler sensed a dormant power, a powerful mage was resting beyond the paper wall, a defined aura he recalled vividly.

"So that's what you went out to find," Shiro closed his eyes and breathed in. Even inert, Caster projected a huge amount of prana, more than he could ever hope to gather on his own or with Tohsaka as a mentor. She was in a league of her own, far more skilled than most mages of the modern era.

"It happened a few hours ago. Luckily, I was almost through the door when she was summoned." Archer confirmed his past-self's guess.

"You had Rule Breaker on you?"

Archer acquiesced again: "That's what I went out to procure today; seems I got it at precisely the right moment."

"Lucky is right," the boy replied, his back pressed against the glass. The drops of rain became fewer and far between. Eventually, the downpour halted completely with a wet yard and drops dripping down from the roof as the only remainder of the unseasonal onslaught. "I ran into Tohsaka today."

"Oh?" Archer's interest was piqued. His expression was unchanged, the terminally bored face of a man who didn't have a care in the world. The only indication was the way he leaned forward imperceptibly at the mention of his former Master. "She doing well?"

"Sort of… Um… Maybe not anymore…"

Archer posture hardened, he glared daggers at his partner as his features contorted into a scowl. "What did you do? Don't tell me you told her…"

"I-"

Shiro's embarrassed explaining was interrupted by the sound of a doorbell being rung: saved by the bell. He scampered back to the front of the house and prepared to greet the newcomer. Archer stood right beside him, eager to tell the salesperson off and return to hearing a suitable explanation for dragging Rin Tohsaka into their mess.

The relief was short-lived. For as he turned the knob and opened the door, the familiar black-haired heir to the Tohsaka line waited with a large grin plastered on her flawless face. "Good evening, Emiya." She intoned playfully before passing him by and depositing both her shoes and the matching black umbrella she brought to keep herself dry.

The redhead closed the door and hesitated to turn around for good reason. Archer watched, positively livid as his ex-Master marched in as if she owned the place. The elegant mage paused on her way in, her eyes darted to the Servant in disguise that eyed her arrival with hidden horror. "And who might you be?"

"Yoshiro Emiya," was the concise answer.

The response elicited a small giggle. "Yo… Shiro, nice touch," Rin responded pithily in kind before dashing down the hallway to take stock of the abode.

The Guardian was on the verge of strangling his younger self, but opted to issue an uncompromising order in its place that, even if it were to silently motioned with the uncompromisingly livid expression etched across his features, was impossible for the youth to misinterpret. _**Fix this. Now.**_

By the time he tried to send the one he deemed useless to chase after the brilliant Master with the help of a few carefully placed kicks into his backside, said Master was wrapping up her tour with a spring in her step. "Not the best but I can make do."

"Make do? Wait, what are you even doing here in the first place?"

Tohsaka frowned a bit. "Isn't it obvious? I'll be sticking around for a bit. I'm very interested in finding out more about the one who supposedly bested me."

The boy could clearly discern the double-entendre in her seemingly harmless sentence and was thus made acutely aware of the nervous bead of cold sweat trickling down. At the edge of his field of view, he could practically see the smoke rising out of Archer ears, or the furious vein bulging at the top of his forehead. Briefly, he wondered what it was like to be the sleeping mage in the other room: how nice it must be to not have a care in the world.

Brought back to reality, he grasped the simple fact that Archer wasn't about to aid him in the slightest. It was up to him to solve this crisis. "My house isn't a hotel."

Rin wholeheartedly agreed.

"Of course not: I'm not paying you."

Like a lover's quarrel, the quiet Guardian concluded. Off in the corner, Archer couldn't help but chuckle lightly at the unsurprising development; the anger he felt simmered down until it was a mere after thought when compared to the amusement he was gifted on a silver platter. A bright ray of light shined within the darkened recesses of his self-despising psyche: this had the makings of a soap opera. Henceforth, he chose to sit in the background and enjoy the fireworks that would undoubtedly ensue. His lips formed into a sly smile as he watched the scene, cross-armed, from the stands.

"Hold on a minute. I said-"

"Yes, yes," Rin dismissed as she rolled her eyes, "I'm imposing, I'm not welcome, you want me out but I'm not budging; that's the gist, right?"

"…"

The boy didn't have a suitable answer in mind, and so stood unmoving, mute, as the raven-haired school idol traipse over his objections and kindly beamed at the spectating Servant. "What's your class?"

"So I'm a Servant now?"

The carefree expression was gone, Rin grew visibly irritated with Archer's evasiveness. She frowned, sensing the Heroic Spirit was going to cause her frequent bouts of headaches if he was this dodgy every time they conversed. "We established that," she exclaimed, losing patience with the self-assured Guardian. "If you don't want to share, I can't force you."

Shiro couldn't tell if she was indifferent to or lamenting the fact that she couldn't compel a reply. Archer stayed immobile, the faintest hint of a smile creeping up on his tanned countenance. "Archer," he articulated as he fixated the mage with an intense look.

"Archer," the mage extended her hand and offered it to the Guardian in front of her with renewed confidence, "nice to meet you."

Both grinning ear to ear as they recognized an even match in the other, they shook on the newly rekindled friendship, leaving a prudent boy to gawk in the background. Somehow, the youth's keen insight into the behavioral ticks of either troublemaker whispered to him that this was a surefire way to drag him into trouble. If Rin spent too much time here at the onset of the War, the Association might get involved and catch wind of his atypical case. Archer was acting without consulting him as it were, if Rin partook in his plans and neglected to inform him, problems were sure to abound.

"Now that the two of you made friends," exclaimed a visibly annoyed boy whose foot tapped the ground in rapid succession, "do you mind packing up?"

"Hmm, that all depends." The Tohsaka mage narrowed her eyes devilishly. Taking a deep breath, she hunched forward toward the Heroic Spirit in the room with her hands behind her back and spoke in a sickly-sweat voice. "Is my presence bothering you, Archer?"

"I don't care. Do what you want." The Guardian pretended to act detached from the whole situation. Again, amusement was to be had, Rin was as stubborn as a mule once she set a goal for herself to accomplish; why not give her a nudge in the right direction and avoid a whole lot of unnecessary complications that most assuredly involved having the Emiya pair seek out possible Gandr-related insurance options in case a repeat of the evening was to ever come to fruition.

"Then it's settled." She concluded triumphantly before traipsing over Shiro's last ditch effort for a solitary evening and on the black flooring of the narrow hallways as she searched for the Western-style room she spotted in her earlier reconnaissance trip. The boy was disheartened; furthermore, he was furious with his elder counterpart who saw fit to give Tohsaka free reign when it was that very same Spirit that insisted on keeping her out of the loop.

Guessing at the ideas fouling the student's mind, Archer returned the dirty look he was given. "You're the one who messed things up in the first place. The bright side to this is we have Fuyuki's overseer as a friend and an incentive for Zouken to shy away if he suddenly learns about us."

"You think they'll make a move? Shouldn't we be concerned about Gilgamesh right now?" The Emiya boy pointed, and rightly so. Should Kotomine be in a vindictive mood for having his plans dashed by the revelation that the War is never to come, he was liable to track them down and set Gilgamesh loose on the unfortunate duo. There wasn't much hope for survival if things devolved into a confrontation this quickly. "Why did you have to tell him in the first place?" The boy lamented anew, he could see the benefit, but overall, it appeared to be a tactical failure on the Servant's behalf. He wanted to believe Archer accounted for something he didn't; however, he felt entitled to getting to the bottom of his reasoning now that those he cared about were at risk.

"To hedge our bets," Archer retorted vaguely as he pulled out the burner phone he'd been using. It frantically beeped as a text message popped up on the screen. At the very same time, Rin came running through the hall and out the door in no time flat, visibly shaken according to the determined look she displayed as she marched on.

"Something came up," she declared before anyone could ask. For his part, Shiro was astonished the girl ran out right when she made herself at home. It had to be a major problem that cropped up. Archer, for his part, acted his naturally collected self. After she flew out of the house and was safely off the property. The Guardian chucked his phone at his human cohort so that he could read the contents of the message.

"We can deal with Gilgamesh if we have more allies we can call on. The important thing is to deprive the other side of people."

"You planned this?" Shiro asked with revulsion as his eyes flickered through the block of text Sakura sent.

"I didn't think it would go that far," the man rubbed the bridge of his nose as he envisioned what went through the mind of the one that prompted this emergency. "I was sure he would back off and give up," the Spirit admitted, "I never dreamed he would outright do it."

"We did this…" Shiro slowly mouthed off as his eyes took on a mile-long stare, only to be brought back to reality in a rather harsh manner.

"No!" Archer spoke up with authority, forcing the boy to look on, flabbergasted, at the man who unceremoniously burst out loudly. "He did it on his own, no one pushed him to make that choice."

The was a small comfort for the boy, and even less so for the Spirit. A man was dead as a result of their actions. They may have detested the man for what he did, but the loss of any life was a tragedy they promised to mourn, no matter how vile the individual. Tonight, Sakura wouldn't be coming over: she had a grandfather to bury.


End file.
